


Time Warp

by FandomTrashxx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Because Derek doesn't come in for ages, But she didn't forget, F/M, How Do I Tag, I don't know how to tag this, It's just a waiting game, Like really ages, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, So slow that you might think that the author kind of forgot the point, Started as a dream and here we are, Time Travel, Weird Plot Shit, it's a bit weird, like super slow, like the slowest of slow, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashxx/pseuds/FandomTrashxx
Summary: Lions and tigers and... Hang on, no, wrong story. Though Elle wished it was as simple as a magic tornado which blew her away to OZ. Instead the young woman from Cumbria gets thrust into a fictional world of overly protective Sheriff's, guys who like to walk around shirtless more often than not and, oh yeah, bloody werewolves. And here she was thinking her year out from University was going to be uneventful.----Or the one where an English girl somehow ends up in her favourite TV show, living with the Stilinski's and navigating the mess which has quickly become her life. Oh, and don't forget the broody werewolf who might just be the answer to this entire thing.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 19





	Time Warp

**Author's Note:**

> So, I woke up one morning having had a crazy-ass dream and decided to write it down. This is what came out of it. I should probably apologise... I am well aware that certain characters have died and that I'm not offering a proper time scale for when this took place within the show but it's fiction, so everyone lives, yay! 
> 
> ***
> 
> The title is a work in progress so please don't hesitate to offer an alternative.

Blinking away the fuzzy warmth of unconsciousness, eyelids flickering and arms stretching, the first thought Elle could register was _damp_. Her sleep-addled brain, unable to fully comprehend the sensation, silently cursed. _I must have left the window open last night again_. The fact that she had to tag the word ‘again’ onto that sentence was tell enough of her character. It wasn’t that she was forgetful per se, rather that her mind raced through thoughts at a speed she often couldn’t keep up with. Remembering to close a window, even though she was entirely too aware that it was supposed to rain overnight, had just seemed unimportant when she was scrolling through the depths of the internet. She’d been distracted.

Still, the damp was only mildly alarming. It was the warm sort of damp, one which followed sunrise on a dewy field in summer. No, the damp didn’t alarm her. Especially when, with a final stretch of her arms – one intended to shake the final remnants of sleep from her body – her fingers caught onto a something out of place. She was awake, as if sleep had suddenly become dangerous. Her eyes snapped open, body jolting upwards fast enough that she momentarily saw black. _This was wrong_. Gone were the jaunty hues of her childhood bedroom, replaced by a dozen shades of green. Her eyes fixed on the forest floor she’d woken up on, tracing thick tree roots as her gaze followed them up – up and up and up. The trees surrounding her dwarfed her body, still crumpled on the floor which upon second thought, felt nothing like the mattress she remembered falling asleep on.

A dream. This had to be a dream. She was sure it wasn’t normal for people to fall asleep in the comforts of their own home and wind up sleeping in the undergrowth of a seemingly infinite number of trees. She turned her head, wondering if perhaps something around her would give away the illusion. Prove that she hadn’t finally gone insane, but as she shifted, her hand caught, and she let out a yelp of pain. _Pain_. So, not a dream then? The irony wasn’t lost on her; her analogy of waking in a dewy summer field was unnervingly accurate. Accurate had it included a dark forest at the peak of dawn.

A small breeze rustled the leaves surrounding her. _Leaves_. The word echoed around her head – unable to believe what her eyes were so clearly seeing. Her hair blew in the wind, gooseflesh rising across her uncovered arms. She glanced down at her body, still clad in the dark jeans and t-shirt she’d fallen asleep in. She allowed herself a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d also become too distracted last night to change. She couldn’t imagine much which could be worse than waking up alone in a forest, though was certain that waking up alone in a forest in nothing but your booty shorts and tank top would likely do the trick.

Succumbing to the apparent truth that she really had just woken up on a forest floor, Elle slowly climbed to her feet. She was careful, movements deliberate, as if worried a wrong move might someone lead to her demise. There weren’t bears in Cumbria, nor were their wolves in any part of Britain for that matter, though she wasn’t so unaware to go running through a forest which contained who knows what. A small part of her brain questioned whether she was still even in Cumbria. She could easily walk to the outskirts of the Lake District from her house, so it seemed the most likely place for her to be. Not that any of this could be considered ‘likely’.

_Sleepwalking?_

She’d never been one to sleepwalk before, and as unlikely as it seemed for her first dally with night walking would end with her sleeping in a forest, it was the most logical explanation she could muster. Every other possibility seemed to lead to impossibilities: her being kidnapped, a newly developed ability of teleportation, aliens. None seemed feasible. Why would she be kidnapped just to be left in the woods, or abducted by aliens to be put in a forest? Unknown magical abilities were also clearly not the cause. That much she was certain of.

Two tentative steps forward left her leaning cautiously against a tree. She seemed to notice only then the erratic pace of her heart and the irregular stuttered breathes slipping past her lips. Her body grew tense and the hand gripping to the damp bark beside her began shaking. “Not now,” she hissed, the words catching in her throat as she felt it constrict, grasped tight by an invisible hand. Thick ropes seemingly bound her chest, tightening around ribs, around lungs. _Suffocating_. She was suffocating. Hands clawed at her neck, a hundred thousand pinpricks darting through her airways. The attack was violent, more violent than she could remember one ever having been before, and her mind seemed to stop.

Her back was pressed against something hard – the tree, the ground – she didn’t know what, nor how it’d come to be there. She was lightheaded, darkness dancing at the corners of her eyes, as the concrete in her lungs began to set.

The sound of a falling branch echoed through the throng of trees, startling her enough to regain some sense of reality. She needed to breathe. The inhaler she’d not needed since she was twelve, the one which still sat in her bedside draw, was the first thing she considered. As she slid down the ground, back grazing against hard bark, she realised that was yet another impossibility. _No inhaler, okay, so count_. The thought raced through her overactive brain, just slow enough for her to see it and latch on. Counting.

 _Five_. Five things she could see. She shook the black her vision, eyes locking onto a small rock at her feet. “I see a rock,” her voice was still strained, wondering how long it would be before her brain was starved of oxygen. “And trees, and dirt,” the next words were easier though the effort to speak still scratched at her throat. “I see leaves, and I see- I see my feet.”

 _Four_. Four things she could feel. Her body screamed at her – stop – as she raised shaking hands which fell to her thighs. “I feel my legs, and dirt beneath my fingers,” her hands landed on the ground with a soft thud, pushing with everything she could muster to get her to stand. “Rough bark,” she was on her feet, hands bracing her against the nearest tree. “And I feel the wind,” had you asked, she’d be unsure whether the words had even been spoken, the sound lost in the breeze which ruffled her hair.

 _Three_. Three things she could hear. “I hear the birds,” Her words were steadier now, breathy yes, but the dry rasp from before was gone. One step at a time, she chose a direction and began to walk. “I hear water,” The gentle babble of a nearby brook urged her forward, bare feet dragging through forest debris. “And I can hear my voice,” for once, it grounded her. Talking meant she was breathing, and breathing meant she was alive.

 _Two_. Two things she could smell. She managed to inhale, lungs expanding as she tried to level her breathing. “I smell damp moss,” the thickness of the scent causing her nose to crinkle. Four more steps forward and she stumbled towards a tall pine tree. “My grandmother’s house, I can smell pine,” The memory startled her, causing her to stumble once more, teeth accidentally sinking into her lip.

 _One._ One thing she could taste. “Blood,” She mumbled, hand coming up to her lip, wiping away the coppery taste which flooded her taste buds. “I taste blood because I apparently can’t walk in a straight line,” she managed a smile at her words, the heavy weight on her chests finally slipping away as she took in mouthfuls of air as she’d just come up from drowning. She once again took in her surroundings, the distant hum of what she could only assume was a car catching her attention. She walked towards it.

“Alone in the woods. _Barefoot_ and alone in the woods,” She grinned sardonically, glancing down at her now dirt-covered feet. “I’ve been in worse situations. Well, I say worse,” her pace quickened as she spotted a breach in the wall of trees. “So, maybe I haven’t been in worse situations. Doesn’t mean I can’t get out of this one,” Her breathing had once again grown unsteady, the cause no longer being panic, rather the fact that she was now running towards the break in greens and browns which she could now clearly see lead to a road. With a speed she’d not used since her high school PE lessons, she dashed towards black asphalt, practically falling to her knees with the first step onto the concrete. “I didn’t know I could be so happy at the sight of a road,” She sighed, running her fingers across it from her crouched position.

“So, I’m out of the woods, now what?” Elle realised that the low muttering to herself was helping her keep her head. No, she wasn’t calm, not even close, but she was in a situation which she needed to get herself out of. “Just one step at a time,” She repeated her earlier sentiment, blinking at the rising sun. She glanced down the road, empty, she assumed due to the time. It couldn’t be later than six in the morning. Her eyes caught sight of a sign posted beside the road – her mind too slow to wonder why it was off the right side rather than the left – and she let out a relieved chuckle. “Right, let’s see where the hell I am.”

*****

It became painfully apparent, the moment Elle was close enough to the sign to read it, that she wasn’t in Cumbria anymore. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she was still in England. At first, she thought it was a joke, that some locals had found it funny to change the road signs to confuse drivers who weren’t properly acquainted with the roads. It made sense up until the point she realised that the signs were old, at least twenty years old, likely more. She couldn’t imagine a teenage prank like this would go unnoticed by some form of authorities for long enough for the signs to rust and start chipping. So no, not a joke. The sign definitely read ‘California’.

She briefly considered that she was dreaming again, but the dull ache in her back from where she’d grazed it against a tree reminded her that it wasn’t. Then again, who was to say that you didn’t feel pain in your sleep, surely no one knew for certain. _Grasping_. She was grasping with that one, clutching on to the ever-dwindling hope that none of this was real and she’d soon wake up in her bed having had the craziest dream of her life. It was foolish. Despite how entirely impossible it was, this was real.

“Breathe, Elodie,” She whispered to herself, inhaling deeply before looking back up at the sign. Despite the flaking paint, she was able to make out a few words. A village, or perhaps a town or city, was supposedly two miles further down the road. “I can make that. Probably,” She said, gently chewing her slip lip at the idea. Although not unfit, she knew walking at least another two miles with bare feet which were already fairly beaten up wouldn’t be enjoyable. Still, she couldn’t very well just sit and wait here.

The first ten minutes – at least what she presumed was ten minutes – seemed to pass by without issue. Elle found herself humming along to a tune she vaguely remembered hearing at her local supermarket a few days prior. Walking to the beat of the music which filled her head, as she mindlessly tapped the rhythm into her thighs with her fingers, was a welcomed piece of normality. She often found herself aimlessly wandering with music playing inside her head and the mundane habit was reassuring. That was until she happened to glance back down at her feet which were a glaringly obvious sign that this was far from ordinary.

“You know,” She started speaking, eyes glancing upwards as if someone was actually listening, as she continued walking. “That time when I asked for some excitement in my life, I meant an invitation to a party for me to decline, or a phone call telling me I’d won the lottery I never enter. I certainly didn’t mean- this,” Her words trailed off as she tried desperately to articulate what exactly was happening here, though with no idea of what had happened, she couldn’t find the words to say. She huffed, not enjoying the irony. She usually couldn’t stop words from tumbling from her mouth, whether she wanted them to or not – a trait she’d been regularly told would get her into trouble, one which had gotten her into trouble. Now, she was at a loss.

The next signpost she reached was less damaged, the words more legible than they had been on the first. _Beacon Hills_. A flicker of recognition seemed to flit through her brain, the name momentarily familiar. Before she was able to recognise it, the memory was gone again, and she shook herself – forcing herself to just keep walking.

The sun rose quickly here, wherever _here_ was. By the time she turned a corner to see a town in the distance, the sun was no longer climbing over the horizon, but sitting comfortably in the sky. Its warmth was a comfort Elle realised she’d be lost without, knowing bare feet and a short-sleeved t-shirt would be no help in fighting off the cold. She let her lips curl up into a small smile, the sight of buildings offering almost as much excitement as the road had offered earlier.

The momentary joy, however, was just that – momentary. And within a few seconds of the smile settling on her face, it fell. She still had an infinite number of questions, ones which she hoped reaching the town in front of her would be answered. Though the glimmer of hope she clung to seemingly lessened more every minute she still found herself here – away from home. Scarcely managing to stifle the sigh of defeat bubbling in her throat, her resolve crumbling by the second, she managed to continue walking.

“Just like Dory said: just keep swimming- or rather walking,” She rolled her eyes.

Reaching another sign – one which clearly sat at the town’s borders, reading ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ – Elle realised she needed a plan. The familiarity of the name still had not occurred to her, something she’d likely later blame on her current mental state – one which was holding up about as much as could be expected. That, and the fact that she was so focused on what she should do next. She glanced down at herself, suddenly realising she couldn’t exactly walk into the first building she saw without rousing some suspicion. She’d seen enough movies to know that turning up to an unknown town, covered in mud – and blood if someone looked loosely enough – wasn’t going to earn her anyone’s trust. Not that there were many other options.

The police were likely her best bet, though with a story like hers she doubted she’d be trusted. _She’s just crazy. It must be a bad_ trip. She’d never even touch drugs thank you very much. Elle had never been the paranoid type, but waking up in a random forest with no recollection of how you got there could make even the most trusting of people paranoid.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” She tried to reason, though noticing how much she’d been talking to herself did briefly make her consider whether she was entirely insane. It was feasible, unlikely, but feasible. _No._ “I’m not crazy. I just need to make it to somewhere I can think properly. One step at a time,” The words had been repeating themselves so regularly in her mind it felt like some sort of mantra. _One step at a time_. It was better than falling into another breakdown she supposed.

Making it into the town offered less comfort than she’d thought it might. Something was off. Not just the obvious ‘off’ of being magically transported in your sleep, but the type of off which made your skin crawl because you could never quite put your finger on it. it was the town; the town was _off_. Something didn’t quite fit, and Elle wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out what. Of course, the what would likely shed some light onto her current situation. That didn’t mean she had to like the idea.

She walked down paved pathways, sticking to the shadows as much as one could in the light of day. The first person she passed – a stout man, clad in a suit and tie – had been so engrossed in a conversation, or argument as could be inferred by the overly colourful language he displayed, he was having on his phone to actually register her. She was infinitely grateful for the world she lived in, one where people were more focussed on themselves than the world around them. The depressing truth of her generation suddenly a good thing.

If the glaringly obvious signpost she’d read earlier hadn’t been proof enough, after hearing the words of the few people she passed, she was now sure that she was no longer in England. Unless the British public had unanimously decided to adopt American accents without her knowledge.

She was suddenly startlingly aware that even if her appearance could be excused and her story less absurd, her accent would pique enough interest alone. The town she’d found herself in seemed small enough for knowledge of outsiders – particularly though from ‘across the pond’ or whatever it was that she’d heard in bad American sitcoms – to spread faster than wildfire. And suspicion, or attention of any sorts, seemed like the last thing she wanted. Not until she had at least a modicum of reason as to why and how she was here.

Eventually, as though the gods had finally decided to offer her an olive branch – _or perhaps more accurately, a leafless twig_ – she saw a bench sitting beside the road she’d just turned down.

She quickly made her way across the road, practically throwing herself down onto the bench with a content sigh. Despite her better judgement, she glanced down at her aching feet, grimacing at the muddied mess which met her eyes, certain any chance of her becoming a foot model were now long gone. Not that she’d ever wanted such a career, it was just disappointing that it was no longer a viable option.

“I’m sure I would have been a wonderful foot model,” She says assuredly, lips curling upwards as she settled herself back against the hard wood.

She watched the sky, watched clouds pass by as the breeze played with her hair. A particularly phallic cloud caught her eyes and drew a low chuckle from her. “Get your head out of the gutter, you lady,” She whispered, mind drifting back to when her grandma had spoken the words last summer.

Apparently her attempts at not rousing suspicion had been lamentable. Drawing a weary sigh from her lips as she spotted the police car – no, _Sheriff’s_ car if the obnoxious lettering on the side of the cruiser was anything to go by – leisurely rolling around the corner and pulling to a halt a few feet from the bench she was perched on.

“Well, shit,” she breathed, bringing her hands to rub tiredly against her eyes, hard enough to see stars. “Things are about to get interesting.”

She kept her gaze down when she saw the door opening, briefly allowing a thought at how bizarre it was to see the driver climbing out of the left-hand side. She fought the urge to bring her knees up to her chest defensively, instead clenching her hands into fists tight enough for her nails to dig harshly into her palms, the sting resulting in a soft hiss. _Still not a dream, apparently_.

“Excuse me, Miss,” The American drawl, one which had she not spent as much time as she did watching TV may have been more disconcerting than it was, sent a slight shiver through her body. She braced herself, steadied her breathing, and schooled her face with an expression she hoped didn’t show just how anxious she currently was. It was unlikely though, she’d often been told her face could be read like a book, and she doubted now would be any different.

“Yes, Sir,” She was speaking to his shoes, heavy-duty black boots which looked worn, covered in scuffs and stains. _Perhaps bloodstains,_ a helpful part of her brain supplied, one she immediately silenced with a small shake of her head. Her gaze stayed firmly locked on his boots, knowing that the polite thing to do would be to address him directly, offer him eye contact. But she couldn’t find it in her to do so.

“I’m Sheriff Stilinski, would you…” The words caused a reaction which could only be described as visceral. Her eyes snapped upwards, finally taking in the sight of the man who was still speaking but whose words weren’t registering – remaining a low din which was masked by the rush of blood flowing through her ears. Her breath seemed to leave her lungs in an eerily similar manner as it had done earlier in the woods. A dozen impossible things had happened just that morning, but this one seemed the least feasible of all. It was as if, a mental block had suddenly melted and left a thousand disjointed thoughts whizzing round her head in its stead.

 _Beacon Hills_.

_Magic._

_Sheriff Stilinski._

“Stilinski,” Her traitorous mouth spoke the name before she was able to bite her tongue. Her voice shook, her body shook. The blinding panic which raced through her veins the only thing she could focus on. “I’m dreaming. It has to be a dream,” the words were practically inaudible, muttered thoughts which seeped from a brain trying to process a thousand things at once. A thousand impossible things. Beacon Hills wasn’t real. Sheriff Stilinski was a character. Teen Wolf was a fucking TV show.

Elle had seemingly forgotten what breathing was. The supposed naturally occurring process had stopped and she had to make a conscious effort to take in gulps of air every time she found herself growing light-headed. Her current state was clearly of concern to the man who still stood before her, having finished speaking when he realised his words weren’t being processed by the girl. Her fists clenched again, this time welcoming the pain caused by her nails digging into her palms, using it to ground herself.

“Are you alright?” The grip on her arm made her flinch though it did the job of pulling her out of the rabbit hole she was quickly descending into. The words themselves didn’t fully register but the concerned look on the Sheriff’s face as he quickly pulled his hand away from her skin told her plenty.

“I’m fine,” she said, the assurance weak even to her own ears. No one said they were ‘fine’ unless the exact opposite was true, and he undoubtedly knew the same thing. He had a teenage son after all. The thought jarred her, more questions dancing behind her eyes as she tried to focus on just one – any one. Perhaps it was just him, and the other people, _characters_ , weren’t in this strange alter dimension she’d found herself in. Maybe Stiles wasn’t his son and Scott wasn’t a werewolf and…

“Do you need me to take you somewhere?” Her glassy eyes snapped back to the Sheriff’s, once again pulling her from her inner onslaught. Yes, was her initial reaction, she needed him to take her home. But the last few minutes of inconceivable revelations had made it apparent that that wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d first hoped.

Her brain raced, heart hammering like a hummingbird’s, as she tried to construct a response which wouldn’t immediately backfire. Patient blue eyes watched her searchingly, letting her know that she needed to say something, anything.

 _Think_. She couldn’t formulate a plan which seemed to have a positive end. She couldn’t well tell the man in front of her that he was a TV character or risk creating an all-consuming paradox which she certainly wasn’t prepared to handle. The truth wasn’t any less out of the question, not that she was even aware of what the truth actually was. Perhaps ignorance _was_ the most innocuous approach; it held enough truth in the sense that she really was unaware of what had happened, and allowed her to keep the whole ‘you’re from a TV show’ issue unspoken.

“I don’t know,” She finally said, the confusion in her words and expression not needing to be faked. “I’m not sure how I got here,” Once again, the truth in her words allowing them to come out believable. There was clear hesitation in the Sheriff’s eyes, unsure what his next move should be. Elle waited in silent unease, the anticipation of his next move clawing at her chest. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted said next move to be – him to leave her, take her to the station with him, or something else entirely – but waiting for it felt like waiting for a sentence to a crime she’d not committed.

“Right,” The word was drawn out, clearly a way of enabling himself a few more seconds to think about how he’d handle this. He held up a finger, a silent signal to tell her to give him a moment, as he walked out of earshot to speak through his radio.

A breeze distracted Elle long enough to tear her eyes away from the Sheriff’s back, wrapping her arms around herself both for protection and warmth. Glancing across the street, she spotted an alley, and briefly considered making a run for it. She tried to work out whether she’d be fast enough to evade capture, quickly disregarding the idea as she dispelled a lungful of air which brought her attention back to her body. She was beginning to feel the effects of running through a forest and walking barefoot for a few miles to get here. Even if she made it to the alley, she held little hope that she’d be able to elude the police for too long.

Her window of opportunity was gone anyway, as the Sheriff started walking back towards her. Body tensed, she sat waiting for whatever it was he was about to say.

“How about I take you back to the station and we can start by getting you something clean to wear,” The smile he offered as he spoke eased some of the tension from Elle’s shoulders, though the poorly disguised, disapproving look up and down her body didn’t go unnoticed. She couldn’t bring herself to care, warm clothes and hopefully something to drink sounded amazing.

Elle nodded her agreement, pushing herself up from her position on the bench and returning the man’s smile. She followed him over to his car, keeping a few steps behind as she tried not to think about what was actually happening. She certainly wasn’t about to climb into a police car and it certainly didn’t belong to a character from a TV show she’d watched. No, certainly not.

He walked round to the boot of the car to grab something Elle was unable to see, her eyes flicking down to the gun attached to his belt as he moved round to the back of the car. That was different. Other than the time she’d visited London and saw the Queen’s guards, she was certain she’d never actually seen a real gun. The reality of the situation was startlingly, that she was barely a few feet from a likely loaded gun. She decided in that moment that she resolutely did not like them – not that she’d previously been a big fan of guns.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sweatshirt being held out to her. She blinked twice, not registering what was happening until the Sheriff explicitly stated that she looked cold and could use a jacket, to which she gratefully accepted. The immediate warmth the material offered resulting in a soft content sigh falling from her lips, earning her a low chuckle from the Sheriff who was now opening the backdoor to the car.

“Regulations state that you can’t ride up front,” He said, his tone apologetic as he watched the girl climb into the backseat. It made sense; he didn’t know who she was, perhaps a harmless teen, or perhaps a mass murderer. She smirked at the thought – she didn’t have the stomach for murder.

With a soft slam, the door was closed, and Elle considered how this would look to the people she knew back home. Her aunt would be scandalised, her uncle shocked but humoured, and her grandmother would no doubt be worried. Having never been in a situation where she needed to be carted off by the police, Elle managed to find the positive side. ‘I can now check sitting in the back of a police car off my bucket list’, she thought.

“Your name. Sorry, I never asked,” The Sheriff asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat – still bizarrely positioned on the left-hand side – and glanced at her in his rear-view mirror.

“Elodie, or just Elle is fine,” She replied, the fleeting thought of giving a false name fading away. If she had managed to defy several laws of reality and there were werewolves here, then lying about something as trivial as a name didn’t seem worth it. _Werewolves._ It seemed entirely too peculiar for her to consider, yet the impossibilities she’d already faced led her to believe that supernatural creatures may not be at the top of the lists she needed to worry about. She wondered, if there actually were werewolves in Beacon Hills, whether they would be like those she’d seen on TV. Would they be able to tell if she lied? Would they look like the shows had suggested? Would they…

Her mental babble was cut short the sound of her name being called. Embarrassed, she blinked, turning her eyes away from the back of the Sheriff’s head which she’d so blatantly been staring at, as a flush climbed up her neck. “I’m sorry?” She said, realising he’d been asking her a question which she’d been distracted to register. Angering the town Sheriff was certainly not at the top of her to-do list, so she swore to pay more attention to his words.

She hadn’t been expecting a deep chuckle in response to her apparent cluelessness, though greatly appreciated it over any other alternative. “I was just asking what part of England you’re from?” he asked again, catching Elle’s eye as he glanced in his rear-view mirror as he spoke.

“How did you…” she began asking before her brain caught up with her mouth and she rolled her eyes at the stupid question she was posing. “My accent, right,” she spoke mainly to herself though held no doubt that in the confines of the car, the Sheriff heard her realisation. “I’m from Kendal, you know the place that makes the mint cake. Not that you’d have ever heard of it. it’s practically in the middle of nowhere in Cumbria. Kind of near the Lake District, if you’ve heard of that. Not sure if Americans even know what the Lake District is. It’s this huge national park where people-” it took once again digging her nails into her palms to make herself stop rambling. _So much for keeping quiet_. The inability to stop talking and widely digress from the simplest of questions, was one of her worse qualities. One which was known to irritate her company. “Sorry,” she quickly apologised, about to go off on another tangent about why what she’d said was irrelevant, until she managed to bite her lip to stop herself.

She was met with another chuckle, this one seemingly less controlled than the last, and she couldn’t stop her own lips from curling upwards.

“What on earth is mint cake?” it wasn’t the reply she’d been expecting, though realistically she should have stopped expecting things by now. She let out a soft laugh of her own, as she glanced out the window. They passed a high school, one she was eerily familiar with, having seen it on her TV many times before. then they turned a corner and the school was gone, leaving her considering whether or not she’d actually seen it.

“I don’t think anyone really knows,” She replied with a shrug she knew the Sheriff couldn’t see, thumbing the ends of the sweater sleeves as she shifted slightly in her seat. “It’s kind of like really minty fudge, I guess. It’s nicer than I’m currently describing, I promise,” She grinned, once again catching a pair of curious eyes in the rear-view mirror.

Despite her wracked nerves, ones which haven’t been sound since the moment she’d woken up, she found herself feeling comfortable in this man’s presence. Having watched the show, he’d always reminded her of her own father, and he apparently he had the same effect in person.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” He said, lightly sighing when he noticed they were pulling up to the station. The easy conversation they’d just fallen into was silenced as Elle felt tension once again flood her body. She’d neglected to think about what exactly she was planning on saying when questioned, _or interrogated_ , when she stepped back outside of the car. A fact she was now heavily regretting.

Neither of them spoke again until they pulled up outside the station, the Sheriff climbing out of the car when he turned off the engine. Elle briefly considered following suit and climbing out the car herself, until her hand went to grab the handle to find it wasn’t there. _Of course not._ She was sat in the back of a police car, there wasn’t exactly going to be handles for those who’d been arrested to use at will.

The wave of stupidity was quickly quelled when the door swung open and the Sheriff gave her an expectant look. A moment of sheer panic washed over her, hands suddenly clammy as she hesitantly stepped out of the car, immediately reminded of her bare feet as they hit hard concrete. The coolness underfoot was strangely grounding, though it did nothing to silence the avalanche of scenarios currently swarming inside her head. She had little control over what was about to happen, but even the little she did have – how she’d answer any questions posed to her – was unthought-out. She had no idea how she was about to try and explain her current situation.

The Sheriff had taken a few steps towards the doors to the station, clearly expecting Elle to follow, but her feet seemingly didn’t allow it. She felt as though her feet were suddenly set in concrete, immovable and stuck.

 _One step at a time_.

The invisible voice appeared to do the trick as she took a tentative step forward. And then another. And then another. Until she was stood just a foot behind the Sheriff. His kind eyes offering her enough encouragement to continue as he walked inside the station.

The next ten minutes seemed to pass by without any conscious decisions being made. She was suddenly sat at a desk – she assumed the Sheriff’s – and wearing a pair of Converse two sizes too big, a glass of water held in her hands. If she’d been asked how she’d been asked how she came to be in that position, she’d come up blank. Though she knew that that wasn’t the sort of question she was about to be asked.

Nervously, she brought her eyes up to meet the Sheriff’s, eyes which were a calmingly blue as they’d been when she’d first seen them.

_Breathe._

Her shoulders moved up and down with the action, shaky breaths becoming steadier after each one she took. Her state apparently becoming calm enough for the first question to be asked.

“Elle from Kendal,” He started, clearly aiming for a smile which she hesitantly offered. “Can you tell me what happened which ended up with you sat out there on that bench?” He asked, rolling a pen between his fingers which hovered over a notepad she’d not seen him reach for.

“I, um, I’m not sure,” Her voice was anxious, even to her own ears, though the fact that she’d been able to start with the truth settled some of the ever-growing nerves which inhabited her stomach. Her decided plan of action was apparently the truth – or at least variation of it.

“How about with start with something a little bit easier then?” The gently coercive smile returned, calming in a way that suggested he’d dealt with more than enough startled teens in his life. She stopped the thought before it was able to circle around to his son who she was yet to know whether existed in this universe or not. “How old are you?”

That question she could do. That one was safe.

“I’m 18, Sir,” She said, hoping the fact that she was legally an adult wouldn’t suddenly make him decide to go all ‘bad cop’ on her ass. She could barely handle his gentle questioning and was certain she might spontaneously combust if he raised his voice. “My birthday was just over a month ago. I was supposed to be starting university this year but decided on taking a gap year.” The words were unnecessary, but she hoped that by giving him some information, he wouldn’t push so much on more difficult questions.

He jotted down her answer, seeming to write down more details than was strictly necessary, though she supposed it was a tactic often used by the law enforcement to make you believe you’d accidentally given away too much. She sat quietly until he spoke.

“How did you lose your shoes?”

The question came out of nowhere, hadn’t even been one Elle had considered she’d be asked. It caused her to stutter for a few seconds as she glanced down at the dirty white trainers she’d been given to wear. They weren’t lost. She knew exactly where they were – thrown haphazardly across her hallway floor after she’d kicked them off last night. She didn’t say this, of course. It wouldn’t have made sense alongside the rest of the story she was planning on providing.

“I don’t know. When I woke up, they weren’t there,” She offered, another partial truth. She was already fully aware of what the next question posed would be but decided sitting in patient silence was better than jumping the gun. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself – a clear show of defensiveness which she didn’t bother trying to hide. The sweater she’d been given before getting into the car, still covering her. The fact that it smelt of laundry detergent made her feel less like it was pulled off a body, or at least if it was, that it had been cleaned since.

“And where exactly did you wake up? I assume not at home?” She quickly shook her head, mildly surprised that he’d not yet asked where ‘home’ was. Sure, she’d told him where she was originally from – or rather still from – but he’d not asked where she lived here in the US. An oversight she was sure he’d unfortunately catch on to sooner rather than later.

“The woods,” She said, her voice sounding less certain than she was about the fact. She had in fact woken up in the undergrowth of the forest, but saying it aloud felt like she’d done something wrong. “When I woke up, I was lying on the ground in the forest a few miles away,” she elaborated, tone more sure. “I don’t know why. It’s not like I fell asleep beneath the trees. I was at home in my bed, and then suddenly, I wasn’t.”

The story was absurd, true, but absurd. And Elle was entirely too aware of it, even before the Sheriff raised an eyebrow at her in question. She was certain he was mentally deciding which type of drug she was on. Had she been in his place, that was what she’d be doing.

“And where is home exactly?” The question wasn’t unexpected, despite the sudden blank Elle came up with as he asked it. If she told the truth, that home was in England, more than five thousand miles away, he’d likely assume she was being sarcastic. If she made somewhere up, he’d have the resources here at the station to cross-check her claim, which would obviously prove she was lying.

 _Ignorance it is then_.

“I don’t know.” Though it wasn’t entirely accurate, it wasn’t as though she had much of a clue about anything which had happened to her. Perhaps making everyone believe she had amnesia would work? Or perhaps not, though it might be worth the try.

*****

The conversation carried on much the same for a while, the Sheriff asking questions, and Elle replying with vague answers. She explained pretty much exactly what had happened to her this morning: waking up in the forest, not knowing how she got there, following signs which led her to the town, and so on. She tried to keep everything as truthful as possible, not wanting to get caught up in so many lies that she couldn’t remember them. She did stay resolutely away from anything which suggested she knew this town, or rather knew of it, certain telling someone they were a character from a TV show was not the way to go about things.

After what felt like forever, the Sheriff smiled and thanked her before leaving her alone in the room with a quick promise to be back shortly.

Taking her time alone to look more closely around the room, she noticed plenty of things which could easily be used as weapons. She was mildly disturbed by the route her mind seemed to take when met with sharp objects, though took it as a good sign that the man clearly trusted her enough to leave her here unwatched. Unwatched by a person at least, security cameras placed in two corners of the room telling her the sense of privacy wasn’t entirely real.

She didn’t move from her seat other than leaning forward to try and see the few documents which were spread across the Sheriff’s desk. She sat back again when she thought she heard someone coming though decided after a few seconds of waiting that it was probably just the creak of an old pipe.

Her eyes landed on a light wooden photo frame which sat beside the computer which contained a picture of the smiling Sheriff stood beside a young man. _Stiles_.

Even now, when she’d _almost_ fully accepted that she was in Beacon Hills, in Sheriff Stilinski’s office, the sight of the boy shook her. It answered her unasked question of whether or not the Sheriff was the only person she’d meet from the Teen Wolf universe. Apparently there was a Stiles too. And she didn’t doubt that the others would also be around.

“My son, Stiles,” The voice made her visibly startle, jumping so much that her crossed knees hit the desk she was sat at. A guilty look settled on her face having been caught snooping and she offered the Sheriff an apologetic smile. He simply shook it away, making his way back round to once again take his seat.

“He’s inquisitive too,” He said, looking at her pointedly, though she couldn’t detect any anger despite what he was insinuating. “Likes to go off on tangents too.” That comment made her laugh, though her cheeks bloomed red at the observation he’d made about her. The warmth of her cheeks seemed echoed in her stomach as she realised the man was comparing her to his son, a compliment she hoped.

“Sorry, I was just looking, and it was probably really rude of me to nose through your things so I’m… I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Her flushed face darkened as he nodded, leaning back in his chair and looking at her in a way which could only be described as curiously. She could feel his gaze studying her, unsure what quiet he was looking for or expecting to find. She sat still, letting him search for whatever it was without interruption.

“You don’t know where you’re from or how you ended up here. You have nowhere to go or stay until you figure it out. You haven’t a phone or any money, nor do you have shoes,” As he listed every issue he’d realised she had, she found herself shrinking back into her chair, almost in embarrassment. Her lips did twitch at the word ‘shoes’ though she manage to keep her mouth shut long enough for him to continue his evaluation of her situation. “You’re too old to be taken in by the children’s home for help and you don’t appear to have anything wrong with you which would suggest going to the hospital. Nor have you committed any crime that I’m aware of which would warrant arrest.”

He let out a sigh, one which seemed slightly too deliberate, as he leant forward, clasped hands resting against the hardwood desk. Elle watched him closely, returning the inquisitive gaze he was giving her. She couldn’t determine his angle, wasn’t sure where exactly this was going, simply watched in apt curiosity.

“What do you suggest we do next?” He eventually asked, blatant anticipation for her answer covering his features. She was confused, hadn’t been expecting the question, and was sure said confusion showed on her face, unable to hide it.

“Um, I don’t- I’m not entirely certain?” The words were a statement though the rising intonation leant itself more to a question. She didn’t know what the correct answer was, didn’t know what he wanted her to say, so subtly shrugged her shoulders.

If the Sheriff’s expression was anything to go by, then her confusion was the correct answer, as it caused a smile.

“Can I trust you?” His question threw her again. Her immediate response wanting to be ‘yes, of course’. She’d always been a trustworthy person and even in this situation, where nothing seemed to make sense, she’d tried her hardest to be honest where she could be. She didn’t understand why he was asking her, but she knew that she did want him to trust her.

“Yes, you can,” She kept her eyes on his, despite the discomfort she’d always felt with prolonged eye contact. She wanted to be trusted, wanted him to believe that she could be trusted, even if they had only just met. Even if he had found her on the side of a road, covered in mud and blood, without shoes, and with no idea what had happened to her.

He seemed to consider her one final time. She could see the exact moment he found what he was looking for by the way he suddenly slapped his legs and stood up.

“Right then, I guess it’s settled then,” He said, walking over to a cupboard to his left and opening a drawer to collect something she couldn’t yet see. She watched him in complete confusion. _Settled? What was settled?_ She’d been bewildered by many things that say but this was definitely top three. She watched as he closed the drawer again, carrying something back to the desk when he sat back down.

When he held the object out to her, she realised what it was – a packet of cookies. She shook her head, baffled. Not moving until he explicitly asked if she’d like one. With all the caution of a cat stalking its prey, she reached out to meet his outstretched hand and took one of the biscuits. She held it, not moving her hand closer to her mouth until her grabbed one himself and sent her a grin.

“Don’t tell my son I have these. He wouldn’t approve,” He said before taking a bite. It wasn’t until he’d finished that Elle finally took a small bite of her own, still eyeing the Sheriff curiously. She’d already found herself in some sort of alternate dimension, but this felt stranger still.

“I’m sorry, but what exactly is settled?” She asked after a few moments, totally stumped by the last minute and a half.

“As long as you’d feel comfortable, how would you like to stay at mine until you can remember anything which might help us get you home?” He asked, so causally that Elle had to do a double take. She was more than certain that this wasn’t common practise, though perhaps he’d just taken pity on her. It was still baffling, the thought of this man so easily opening up his home for her. He seemed to take her blank look and silence as something her needed to reassure. “Like I said, I have a son, roughly your age. So, it’s not as if I’m asking you to stay with just me in a house,” He said, trying to quell a worry Elle hadn’t felt. The reminder of his son – of Stiles – was almost as shocking as the offer itself.

“Obviously, it’s entirely your choice. I can always drop you off somewhere else if you’d rather,” The suggestion seemed to snap her back to reality – or this ‘sort of’ reality she’d been thrust into. The thought of living in the Stilinski house, despite everything else which was going on, sent a thrill through her body. It was insane, unquestioningly improbable, and entirely impossible. But, here she was, having actually just been invited to stay with the Stilinskis.

She tried to hide her smile, looking up into kind blue eyes, as she nodded. Realising she probably had to vocalise what she actually meant.

“Are you certain that would be okay? What about your son, wouldn’t he have an issue with it? I wouldn’t want to be a burden which you feel responsible for helping. This is going above your duties, you really don’t have to,” Her vocal diarrhoea was apparently back, the rambling causing her to become slightly short of breath. She wanted to accept his offer, not just because of the insanity of it, but also because she didn’t exactly have any other option right now. Though she wouldn’t want him to feel obliged to do anything. The idea of being a burden having never been her intention.

He chuckled, fondly shaking his head. “I’m certain,” He said, sounding sure of himself. “And I’m sure you and Stiles will get on famously.” She smiled at the idea, her inner fangirl briefly making an appearance at the very thought of being friends with Stiles Stilinski. She didn’t miss the suggestion in his voice, either. The one which had been there earlier when he entertained the idea that she and Stiles were similar.

Elle found herself smiling at the man, once again struck at how similar to her own father he seemed. She nodded again, fingers once again toying with the sleeves of her sweater.

“Well, if you’re sure, then that would be amazing. Thank you so much, Sir,” She said, ensuring she gave him one more chance to change his mind before he fully committed to letting a stranger into his house. The look on his face told her that he wasn’t going to take it though.

“If you’re going to living under my roof, you can call me Noah,” He smiled, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “My shift doesn’t end for a few more hours so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to hang around here for a while,” He said, his face clearly apologetic, though Elle didn’t believe he had anything to apologise for. He’d already done more than enough, so she simply shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay in here, or you can go sit in the canteen? I have a tablet lying around here somewhere which will hopefully keep you entertained until my shift is over. I’ve spoken to a few of my colleagues so they’re all aware you’ll be here, not that I was being presumptuous about you agreeing.”

She was about to tell him not to worry as he seemed to be searching through his desk for the thing, but stopped herself. Perhaps access to the internet would help sort out a few things. For one, a quick google of the TV show might be extremely enlightening, and maybe a search on Dylan O’Brien and Tyler Posey.

She smiled at his last comment, finding it rather endearing that he’d made such an assumption. She was naïve, nor was she entirely oblivious of the risks connected to agreeing to stay in a random man’s house. But something about the Sheriff, whether it was the fact that he was part of the law enforcement here or because she felt like she already knew him, made her trust him. She’d seen the show enough times to know that above anything, he was a good man, and from what she’d seen, this underlying character trait seemed to reside in this man too – character or not.

“Thank you, Si- Noah,” She smiled as she corrected herself, taking the tablet from his outstretched hand which he’d managed to find hidden within his desk.

“Now, don’t think about snooping,” He said, his tone light despite the serious edge Elle could clearly hear in it. The lack of a real threat was somewhat surprising as, despite both knowing there was CCTV in the room, it still said a lot that the Sheriff was leaving a girl alone in his office. She considered perhaps he had the same intuitive feeling that they could trust one another as she did. “There’s nothing on that thing so you won’t be able to look into any hidden police files before you think about it,” He added, though Elle had already assumed as much. He wouldn’t have given her access to such information.

“Don’t worry, I’ll behave,” She aimed for the most innocent smile she could muster though knew by the roll of eyes and indignant snort the Sheriff offered as reply that he held some doubts. She thought it was likely because he’d spent years living with his son who clearly liked to get involved in business which didn’t concern him. The thought made her smile.

A knock at the door caught his attention, calling out for whoever it was to come in. She watched quietly as he was briefed on a situation which, from what she could catch, was on the outskirts of town. The officer who had walked in spared her a not so subtle glance before leaving them alone once again.

“Duty calls,” He said with an exaggerated huff which Elle could help but laugh at. The man was funny, and she distantly wished that his character had been focused on more in the show. She watched as he jotted something down on a scrap of paper, handing it to her before he grabbed his phone and keys from the desk. “My number, in case you need anything before I’m back. Like I said, you’re welcome to stay here or go to the canteen if you want something to eat – just tell them I sent you and they’ll whip you something up.”

“Thank you,” She said, catching his attention as he shrugged on his jacket, clearly about to leave. “I mean it. Thank you for everything.’

The smile she offered was sincere, and she pushed down the urge to hug the man which had suddenly flooded her. She was a hugger, something people around her quickly grew to learned to accept – or at least deal with. Still, she had enough restraint to understand that now was not an appropriate time to show her tactile side, so stuck with the thankful smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said, opening the door to leave before turning back to through over his shoulder, “and don’t hesitate to text me if you need to.”

“Yes, Sir,” She said, trying to keep a straight face as she saluted him. The second he started laughing, however, she joined him and offered him a small wave as he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone.

“Well, that certainly didn’t go as I’d expected,” She muttered to herself, spotting the small couch which sat below the window and making her way over to it. she slumped down, less gracefully than she’d ever admit and brought her hands up to her face.

*****

Elle was uncertain how longer she remained in that position, collapsed on the couch with the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes. It was long enough for her sight to cloud with stars when she moved them away, having to wait for her vision to recover before she sat upright.

She grabbed the tablet which she’d left sitting on the desk and situated herself in a more comfortable position as she turned it on.

The time the screen displayed was surprising. It was almost half two and the fact that she’d mow missed breakfast and lunch, and her stomach wasn’t screaming at her to eat was more than a little unusual. “I suppose weird time-travel effects your hunger too,” She muttered, trying to make light of the situation which was once again sinking in on her. She was pleasantly less panicked than she’d been when she’d first woken up, having somewhere to stay and the semi-trust of the local Sheriff doing wonders, though the fear still lurked.

Her lack of control of the situation was only making it worse. She had no idea what had happened to her and wasn’t any close to figuring out what had.

“Right,” She said, breathing in deeply before looking back down at the tablet in her hands. “Let’s make like a Stilinski and research the heck out of this place.” She ended up laughing at her own bad joke, one she’d made more than a few times in the past. She remembered when last year when one of her friends had categorically banned her from making it when they’d been researching for an important school project. It didn’t stop her from making it though, of course. She didn’t focus on the fact that she had actually met a Stilinski and was likely going to meet another later that day. Now wasn’t the time to fall down a crisis-induced rabbit hole.

When she opened the browser, her innate curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself clicking on the recent history. Mildly disappointed with the result, she clicked back off of it after a few seconds. _Of course, the Sheriff would delete any incriminating search history_.

She clicked on the search bar, fingers hovering over the letters as she considered what exactly she wanted to search for first.

 _Teen Wolf_.

The words were typed in seconds, words she’d typed a hundred times, and she hit enter before she was able to talk herself out of it. The chance that the results could make her situation even worse heavily outweighed by her desire to know at least some part of the truth.

Despite herself, she felt a sudden sinking feeling when the search struck a blank. She was met with pictures of wolves – as in real wolves, not the were kind – and nothing which even suggested teenage werewolves, or a TV show, or anything of the sort. It wasn’t as if she’d not expected it, but a small part of her still believed this all to be a dream, or an elaborate prank. The unresolved search only added to the mountain of evidence which was heavily hinting at this being real.

She continued searching things, hoping that at least something would give her a result.

 _Dylan O’Brien_. No results.

 _Scott McCall._ No results.

 _Jeff Davies_. No results.

And she continued searching whatever she could remember about the show which could offer her some clarity. Nothing did.

Eventually, after once again slumping back against the couch, a mixture of annoyance and anxiety bubbling away within her, she let out a loud sigh. She considered taking up the Sheriff’s offer to go and find the canteen, eat something to take her mind off of the mess she’d found herself in for a short while. But couldn’t bring herself to do so. She decided to change tactics, instead trying to learn all she could about the town of Beacon Hills – the one which up until a few hours ago, had been entirely fictional.

The search wielded the usual results one might expect to googling a town. The high school and police department being the most commonly occurring topics. For the first time in her life she found herself clicking on the fifth page of search results in an attempt to find out more. She ultimately ended on an article about the Hale fire – one which she skimmed over despite knowing many of the details it contained before actually reading it. _So, Derek Hale was also very much real._

She allowed her subconscious to wonder. Then immediately regretted it, as it settled on one of many memories involving conversations with her friend about said man. _Derek Hale_. A deep blush crawled up her neck, before settling on her cheeks. It was easy to talk about a fictional character, objectify them in a way she knew she probably shouldn’t but was able to justify because they weren’t real. She’d objectified Derek more times than she dared think, and the fact that in this reality he was a real person made her uncomfortable. The knowledge that it was extremely unlikely that she’d accidentally end up running into him was the only comfort she could find as she quickly clicked off the article still displayed on the screen before her. She quickly decided to resolutely push any and all inappropriate thoughts about anything and anyone – particularly one Derek Hale – out of her mind until she was home.

When she ran out of things worth searching, or more accurately gave up looking, she put the tablet back down and grabbed herself another cookie from the packet the Sheriff and left on his desk. She’d made sure to clear her search history, considering some of the results may have cause for concern, though she knew that if the Sheriff ended up wanting to know what she’d been looking up, he could more than likely find a way to see. Still, the thought was there, and she hoped he wouldn’t go looking.

After checking the time once more, she lay back down on the couch, her feet resting against one arm and her head propped up by the other. She’d been told that his shift ended at six today, just over half an hour away, though considering he was the Sheriff, new that it was likely to be later than that. Not that she minded; she didn’t exactly have anywhere to be.

She found herself staring at the ceiling, mulling over the day’s events. Her jittery fingers had found a ball of string to play with, but her mind had no such distraction.

Images of wolves and full moons and monsters flittered past her eyes, all images she’d brushed off as fiction. But now, she wasn’t so sure. She screwed her eyes tight, hoping the blackness would dispel some of the thoughts harassing her, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Come on mind, give me a break,” She pleaded into the air as the fiery pictures which had accompanied the Hale fire report she’d found came to mind. She huffed loudly, pulling her mind away from all thoughts of such things and mentally planning all the mundane chores she’d supposed to have been completing that day.

“Sorry I’m late,” The words caused Elle’s head to snap to the side, her body jumping up into a sitting position. She wasn’t sure whether she’d been dozing or simply too engrossed in her mind that she was dead to the world. Either way, the sudden voice had startled her from her silence, and her heart was currently beating faster than a bad drum and base song. She flushed the second she registered who it was, sending him a shy smile which clearly showed her embarrassment.

“I barely noticed. I was in a world of my own just then,” Elle said, fingers absently thumbing at the ball of string she’d somehow managed to keep a hold of. She saw his eyes flash down and her embarrassed blush only increased. “Sorry, my hands need something to do,” She said, the words not entirely making sense though she didn’t bother to correct them as she placed the string back where she’d found it.

“Don’t worry about it. Of all the things in here you could have touched, a ball of string isn’t exactly setting off any alarms,” His chuckle was deep, and she found herself smiling along with him. “Just give me five minutes and we can head off. If you still want to?”

The question seemed hastily tagged on. A final way out if in the hours he’d been gone she’d changed her mind. She evidently hadn’t, or she’d no longer be here, but his insistence to ensure she was still comfortable with it was welcomed. She nodded quickly.

“If the offer still stands,” She grinned, pulling at the hem of the sweater she still wore. A fleeting thought passed her by, wondering what she was going to do about her clothes. They were currently covered in mud and small dots of blood – ones which she prayed would come out – and needless to say, she didn’t have any others. Perhaps the Elle she was becoming in this reality would turn to naturism? Embrace the natural side of things? Or perhaps not. Most definitely not. And it wasn’t a problem for right this second and the whole ‘one step at a time’ motto she was apparently living by now meant she shouldn’t be worrying about something which wouldn’t affect her immediate future.

“No. I’ve had time to think about it and I’d much rather have you sleeping on the streets,” The seriousness in his voice threw her for all of a second, before he cracked a smile. She decided she liked him and his sarcastic humour and rolled her eyes in response, waiting for him to get packed up.

*****

Climbing back into the car, thankfully in the passenger seat this time, Elle felt a wave of trepidation wash over her. It was one thing to accept that you’d somehow been transported to another reality where characters and places on a TV show were real, but to come face to face to one of the stars of the show was an entirely different ball game. She was nervous; nervous that she’d slip up and give away what few things she had kept secret, nervous she would mess up and end up back on the street without even a roof over her head, and nervous about Stiles not liking her. It seemed almost trivial amongst the shitshow she’d been so deftly shoved into to be worrying about being liked, but it mattered, to her it mattered.

The fact that she was about to invade his space, despite the Sheriff – Noah – offering her the place to stay to begin with, was only adding to this worry. No, Stiles wasn’t a wolf, not as far as she was aware at least, but the ‘territorial’ part no likely extended to human members of the pack too. Elle was about to be a stranger, one invading his territory, and she wasn’t sure how he would react.

“I can practically hear the cogs turning,” The Sheriff – _Noah_ , she’d have to get used to that – brought her back out of her head. She gave him a shy smile, before looking out the window in an attempt to hide her flushed cheeks after being caught.

“I was just- did you- your son, did you tell him I was coming home with you?” She asked, stopping herself from using his name. Yes, she had been told his name once already, but she doubted she’d be expected to have remembered it with the bombardment of information she’d had to process throughout the day. She hoped he’d say yes, that he’d at least given Stiles some warning about a stranger occupying his home and…

“Actually, no,” her shoulders hunched slightly, not being given the answer she’d wanted. Seemingly sensing the mild shock which she was clearly radiating, Noah continued quickly. “I tried, but he’d been busy today with the- with his friends, so I’ve not had the chance.”

Elle heard the stutter in his voice, the clear change in direction the sentence took. _Pack._ She was almost certain he was about to say ‘pack’ but managed to stop himself. She supposed it made sense. If the pack was busy, and Noah was busy with being the Sheriff, there likely wasn’t a moment for them to have a lengthy discussion about how Noah had picked up a stray who ‘hey son, is going to live with us for a bit’. She frowned. Surely he could have slipped that in, sent a quick text to at least warn the boy.

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine, and I already told you that you and Stiles will get on,” Noah said, gently nudging her arm in a gesture clearly meant to comfort. She hoped more than anything that he would be right about that. She was beginning to believe that she might need some help getting home and Stiles seemed like the prime candidate to help her do it.

“Yeah,” She said absently, her mind already calculating a thousand possibilities for how she’d even try and explain what was going on to someone. “I hope so.” The words were true, she _did_ hope they’d get along, but the anticipation of it all was hurting her head. Ever the pessimist – _or realist, thank you very much_ – Elle found herself preparing for the worst, and Noah’s kind eyes and positive words weren’t helping as much as she might have liked.

The familiarity of the house as they pulled into the drive was yet another knock to the system. She idly glanced up at the window she knew to be Stiles’ and allowed herself to marvel at how the wolves actually managed to jump up there, certain she’d end up with a broken arm – again. She smiled at the memory or her climbing the tree outside her childhood house in a failed attempt to reach the roof. She was barely a teen, though her rebellious phase had started early, and she’d seen people sitting on rooves in movies so why couldn’t she. The answer had become painfully apparent when she returned to school Monday morning for a cast on her right arm which hadn’t allowed her to write for almost two months.

Eyes drifting back to the front of the house, Elle noticed the distinct lack of the tell-tale blue jeep which came with one Stiles Stilinski.

 _Still with the pack then_.

She couldn’t decide whether she was happy with this knowledge or not. Yes, it gave her the chance to settle her thoughts, and preferably have a shower, but she also realised that walking in on a stranger in your home wasn’t ideal. Not that she had any control over the fact. She resolutely decided, then and there, that worrying about things outside of her power was no longer her prerogative.

She followed the Sheriff inside the house. It felt as if she was on a set, like the time she’d visited the Harry Potter studios and looked inside the Dursley’s house. Except there were no cutaway walls for filming or fake furniture made purely for decoration. It was a real house. A real house for a real family in a real town which shouldn’t exist. But, there she was, following a man who until today had been a fictional character, as he pointed out rooms she may need to know.

The information wasn’t sinking in – not that she needed it – though her name did catch her attention.

“Sorry, I guess it’s just been a long day,” She had the sense to look embarrassed for not paying attention, though Noah brushed it off, seemingly understanding. _I wish I understood_. They finished the tour of the ground floor in the kitchen, a slightly larger room than she’d imagined it to be. The house was too big for just the two of them, she absently thought. Especially when the Sheriff worked late. She shook away the thought at the sound of a cupboard opening.

“Would you like something to drink?” She was asked as two glasses were placed on the countertop opposite her.

“Vodka would be perfect,” She smirked, knowing the outcome before he even opened his mouth, but couldn’t stop herself from at least trying. There was a noticeable seriousness to her words which she’d not intended on showing but didn’t try to correct. She didn’t drink often back home, but figured that if there was an appropriate time, it was after being magically transported to an alternate universe and moving in with the Sheriff of a fictional town.

_Yeah. My life is officially fucked up._

“Haha,” Noah said flatly, Elle catching the slight roll of his eyes and noting that it was likely where Stiles got it from.

“It was worth a shot,” She sighed dramatically, shoulder slumping as she leant back against the counter behind her. She was about to add that she was happy with water when he opened the fridge and spoke again.

“I think you might have earned one of these though,” He held a bottle of beer in his outstretched hand which had Elle staring. She briefly wondered whether this was a test or not, deciding that she didn’t care either way. She hesitantly reached for the bottle, and when seeing that Noah wasn’t about to pull it away, grabbed onto it with a small smile.

“Thanks,” She said, popping the top off with the ring on her finger as if she’d done it a thousand times. She hadn’t. It was just a party trick she’d managed to master in case there ever came a use. Apparently, now was it.

She took a long drink, ignoring the bitter taste which flooded her mouth as she swallowed. Beer was certainly not her drink of choice, though it was better than nothing. She hoped it would calm her nerves at least a fraction before Stiles came home, knowing she needed all the help she could get. The fact that she’d eaten nothing that day, bar a few biscuits, meant the one bottle would likely do the trick. She hoped.

“Stiles shouldn’t be too long,” Noah said, after taking a gulp from his own bottle and moving to throw his back on top of the counter. Elle watched, mildly transfixed as he removed a flask and plastic container which looked as though it had once contained some sort of pasta. Seeing him acting so, so domestic was so new. Different enough that she momentarily forgot that this wasn’t just a regular man coming home from work and unpacking like he does every day. He seemed so normal, so real, that the image Elle had of the Sheriff from Teen Wolf seemed like an entirely different person to the man before her.

“We can order pizza, if you like. I’d offer to cook but, as you’ll no doubt hear from my son, the kitchen is definitely not my department,” the conversation was comfortable, and Elle found herself smiling.

“Yeah, pizza sounds amazing actually,” She agreed, stomach grumbling as if it had sensed its cue and decided now was its time to shine. She offered a flushed apology, taking another swig form her bottle to stop words from spilling out of her mouth and further embarrassing her.

“Stop apologising,”

“Sorry- I mean- I’m English, what do you expect? We’re kind of known for our obnoxious politeness,” She corrected, hiding a bashful smile behind the rim of her bottle. She received a fond roll of the eyes and a dramatic sigh before Noah seemingly went back to saying what he’d originally meant to.

“Any preference? Stiles and I usually just get double pepperoni?” He asked, grabbing his phone and dialling a number he clearly had memorised. The question had her chewing nervously on her lip. She’d already caused more than enough trouble for the man and hated the idea of causing anymore hassle. It was just that the idea of eating pepperoni turned her stomach.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t actually eat meat, sorry,” She stumbled over the words, forgetting the fact that she’d, just seconds before, been told to stop apologising. She just didn’t want to be trouble, didn’t want to be a burden who’d end up once again without a roof over her head.

“What did I say about apologising,” Noah smiled as he hit dial and brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I’d like a large double pepperoni, and a large cheese.”

Elle smiled, zoning out from the rest of the one-sided conversation. She certainly agreed with her earlier sentiment: she liked this man.

*****

The pair were upstairs in the guest bedroom. Elle had been given clean sheets, ones she was currently making the bed with, whilst Noah was looking for something she could wear, both the sleep in and for the following day. She still felt gross, her clothes and skin covered in dirt, and she didn’t want to think about the state her feet would be in. She wanted a shower, but she’d come to the conclusion that she needed clean clothes before she did that, not wanting to put dirty clothes back on afterwards.

She’d finished her beer and was appreciative of the light feeling it had resulted in; she was less tense than she’d been all day and she found she liked that. She was about to call out to Noah when she heard a door being unlocked. The sound was enough to force away the calm and leave tense shoulders in its wake.

“Dad, I’m home,” Elle had heard that voice a hundred times. It was as familiar as a voice could be and she was certain she’d be able to pick it out from anywhere. The familiarity wasn’t a comfort though. Her hands, which were currently stuffing a pillow into its case, froze as she subconsciously held her breath. 

“Scott’s here too, he…” Stiles’ voice was cut off by another, one hushed and urgent, though Elle knew it to be Scott’s. She could almost pretend she was in her own room, and had accidentally left the TV on in the living room. She couldn’t understand how they sounded so familiar yet minutely different at the same time.

“Dad!” This time it was an urgent shout, followed by two pairs of feet up the stairs. Her brain was foggy, still stuck on the fact that she could hear voices which she’d heard on the TV so often, in person. In actual real life. She didn’t process the running or the slamming open of what she assumed to be Noah’s bedroom door. She barely registered anything until the door to the room she was currently stood in was swung open with a clearly unnecessary force.

She stared. She stared, with her hands still half inside a pillowcase, at Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski who were entirely real and staring back at her with what? Anger, suspicion, surprise? She couldn’t work it out.

And apparently, her overworked brain was too frazzled to realise that she was currently being stared down by a werewolf and his best friend, and resorted to its usual mechanism for dealing with situations she didn’t know how to handle.

“You know, you didn’t need to go full Hulk on the door. I’m sure it’s never personally offended either of you,” The joke was lame, but she supposed bad humour wasn’t the biggest issue she was currently faced with if the deepening frowns she was looking at didn’t ease up soon. She took the slightest bit of comfort in the fact that Scott wasn’t ‘wolfed out’ or whatever it is they call it.

“Boys, calm down,” The voice of the man who she was suddenly sure was an angel managed to draw one pair of eyes away from her. She allowed her shoulders to slouch slightly, though was painfully still aware that she was still being stared at as if she was dinner by an angry looking werewolf. She’d never considered Scott to be all too terrifying before, but she’d clearly never had his glare directed at her.

She swallowed audibly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Scott. Leave the poor girl alone,” The words didn’t seem to deter him one bit, but the accompanying smack to the head appeared to do the trick. “This is Elodie, she’s going to be staying here for a while.” Noah sounded resolute, as if his words held no room for argument. She could see it though, Stiles clearly wanted to answer his father back and Scott’s eyes were still piercing into her as if she was the devil himself.

“Yeah, so, hi,” Elle offered, dropping the pillow back to the bed and giving a small wave of her hand. Her brain still wasn’t able to fully catch up with what was happening, and she urged it to get a grip and hurry the hell up.

Stiles opened his mouth, about to speak, likely in disagreement with his father, when there was a knock at the door. It managed to startle all four of them, something Elle would have made a joke about had she not just been subject to a predatory look from a still entirely human Scott McCall. She daren’t think what he might have looked like if his eyes had flashed or his fangs came in.

“Go answer the door, we’ll be down in a minute,” Noah said, shoving the pair of boys towards the stairs and putting some distance between them and Elle. She once again likened him to an angel. It surely wasn’t too far off. They grumbled, of course, but with a stern stare, went to answer the door.

“So, that went well,” Elle said sarcastically, rubbing at the back of her neck as she moved round the bed closer to the Sheriff.

“Yeah. I didn’t anticipate Scott coming over,” Noah said, throwing an arm around Elle’s shoulders and giving a reassuring squeeze. She glanced up at Noah as he pulled away, repeating the name as if she hadn’t known who the second male had been. “Scott is Stiles’ best friend. Don’t worry, he’s harmless,” The words were strange, and Elle was certain that he wouldn’t have used those exact words had he not known Scott was a werewolf. Noah seemed to realise the same thing as she did though, as he didn’t think Elle knew about the supernatural, clearly thought it insignificant enough to brush over.

She could hear the muffled whispers from downstairs, knowing that Scott was more than likely listening in on the conversation and relaying it all to Stiles. She suddenly understood all of Stiles’ complaints about having no privacy.

“Well, I’ll just have to convince them that I’m not a threat,” She said, choosing her words carefully and speaking slightly louder than necessary in hopes that Stiles would also be able to hear her. Steeling her nerve, she threw a quick nod in Noah’s direction and followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. She could feel the Sheriff’s presence, an almost calming hum beside her, and gave him a small smile before setting her eyes forward with a determined look washing over her face.

“Hi, I’m Elodie. But Noah already said that, so I guess you already knew that and yeah, so, nice to meet you. Feel free to call me Elle or Ellie or I even when by E once a lifetime ago, but that was… Elle, it’s Elle,” She said, aiming for practised nonchalance, which of course came out as a jumble of words with her usual inability to just stop talking. She was entirely aware that at least one person in the room could literally hear her hammering heart, the sound of it deafening even to her own ears – perhaps loud enough for the other humans to hear too.

A sort of stalemate commenced, Noah clearly shooting the boys a ‘look’, Scott still glaring at her the way the wolves do when their territory is invaded, and Stiles looking fidgety.

Stiles, unable to handle awkward silence, was the next to fill it. _You remind me of my son._ The words floated through her head as she realised that perhaps the Sheriff hadn’t been too far off the mark when he’d spoken them.

“How about some pizza?” Stiles asked, lifting the boxes off of the counter and leading the way to the living room. Elle didn’t miss the look he threw Scott, but chose to ignore it, hoping it had been a silent signal to ease up on the glaring. She wasn’t sure how much more of it she could take.

“I see you took the easy route then. Did you want to keep your world-class cooking skills a secret?” Stiles asked his father as he settled beside him on a couch – Scott and Elle both taking chairs on either side of it. Noah gave his son a quick swat, which Stiles only laughed at, before sending Elle a look, one which said, ‘I told you so’. She found herself laughing too. She silenced the sound at the incredulous look she received from Stiles – apparently your father having inside jokes with a random teen wasn’t usual.

“Where did you pick _her_ up?” Scott asked suddenly, his voice was flat with the slightest edge of anger, as he wrinkled his nose. She supposed his anger was warranted – bringing a stranger who reeked of dirt, blood, and anxiety, in the house of a packmate. She knew he could smell her nerves, the light sheen of sweat which was collecting on her skin. She was also aware that, even if he had every right to be unsure of her, he didn’t have to be so rude about it.

“Oh, you know, he found me on Craigslist.” No, sarcasm might not have been her best move, but it was her poison of choice. She kept her eyes blank as her lips curled into a smirk, not looking away from Scott.

Their eye-contact only broke when her attention was caught by snickering. Both Stilinskis sat with their hands over the mouths, attempting to stifle their laughter. It caused her to grin; she’d done that.

“Come on, Scotty. She’s joking,” Stiles said when Scott’s face remained steely. He turned to look at her after a moment, almost hesitantly asking, “You are joking, right?”

“Perhaps,” She murmured with a noncommittal shrug. Stiles’ eyes grew wide after a second of processing her, before his father hit him again, slightly harder this time.

“She’s joking, Stiles. That was a joke,” Noah said, shooting her a poisoned look. He leaned forward to open the boxes of semi-forgotten pizza, making sure the margarita was on Elle’s side of the coffee table, and taking a slice. She smiled at him.

Stiles’ eyes flicked back up to hers as she reached for her own slice of pizza, now more curious than they’d been when he looked at her earlier. She couldn’t help herself as she mouthed, ‘I’m not joking,’ before biting into the pizza, smiling around the mouthful. He looked slightly reluctant to do so, but eventually his lips curled up into a grin too.

She watched Scott from the corner of her eye, seeing him looking at her – studying her – and the interaction she’d had with his friend. Stiles seemed to catch the look too and shot him a sharp glare. She was certain Scott understood, the pair having grown up together likely meant they always knew what each look or smile meant. Whatever it’s meant, Elle was happy with it, as Scott’s predatory gaze softened, not entirely, but to a level she could deal with.

“I wanted to run it by you earlier, but you guys were busy,” Noah said when he realised the tension in the room had faded from a fiery blaze to a low simmer. Elle noted the way he spoke, the emphasis on the word ‘busy’, which would have been almost imperceivable if she’d not been looking for it. She wondered whether she’d be here long enough to gain the pack’s trust, or Stiles’ at the least. She found herself hoping she would, hoping that they’d tell her about the werewolves and other things which went bump in the night which inhabited Beacon Hills.

“Yeah, sorry. Derek got some news he wanted to let us all know,” Stiles said, the mention of the older man causing Elle to tense as her mind inconveniently wandered back to her earlier thoughts about one Derek Hale. She shook away the tightness of her shoulders and hoped it went unnoticed.

“Anything I should know?” Noah asked, noticeably more worried than a typical father might be able his son’s friend having nondescript ‘news’. For a pair so used to keeping secrets, they weren’t exactly discreet.

“No, nothing important,” Even without superhuman hearing and a nose which could sniff out a needle in a haystack – and yes, that analogy made perfect sense, thank you very much – Elle could tell that was a lie. _So, there’s a new ‘big bad’ in town. How exciting._

The Sheriff’s curt nod was enough to tell her that the conversation was over, for now at least. Likely to be continued away from her prying ears. She pouted, hiding it behind another slice of pizza.

“Anyway, like I said, I wanted to run it by you, but didn’t get the chance. The department got a call about a – and I quote – ‘a girl who looked like she’d just walked out of The Evil Dead’.”

Elle looked at the man incredulously, this being new knowledge to her.

“I mean, I may not look like I’ve hoped off a bus from Disney Land, but The Evil Dead? That’s fucking rude,” She huffed, arms crossing in front of her chest as her lower lip jutted out once again. She glanced down at her arms where she’d rolled up the sleeves of the sweater Noah had given her and grimaced slightly. Sure, they were kind of dirty, but it wasn’t as if she looked like she’d just crawled out of hell or something. She didn’t appreciate the chuckles coming from both Scott and Stiles either, so sent them both a glare.

“Language,” Noah said sternly, though the barely hidden smile on his lips made his frown less than convincing. 

Noah went on to relay the rest of their morning and afternoon, going into more detail than she even remembered giving. Apparently when she was anxious and disorientated she gave out far too much information, including how she was currently taking a gap year before going to university next year to study forensics. _God, I need to learn when to shut the hell up_. Of course, it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind, and she doubted it’d be the last.

“So, you thought you’d bring the stranger, who woke up in a forest, with apparent partial amnesia, who could for all we know be an axe murderer, into our house?” Stiles asked, with slight disbelief.

“Frankly, I’m just slightly proud that you think I could actually be an axe-murderer,” Elle said quickly, before Noah had a chance to reply to his son. Stiles offered her small smile with a raised brow. It told her enough: he wasn’t angry about her presence, just curious about his father’s reasoning. Scott still didn’t look all too convinced, something she direly wanted to change.

“I mean, look at these,” She said, pointing at her admittedly scrawny arms, turning towards Scott. “I mean look at them. They’re all noodley and weak. I’m not even sure I could use an axe to cut wood, let alone kill someone with one. Chopsticks are difficult enough.”

Scott seemed to consider it, as if he was actively having an argument with himself inside his brain. Before eventually rolling his eyes and turning towards his friend who was not-so-quietly chortling with his father. “I think you’ve finally found someone with a sense of humour as bad as yours, Stiles.”

Elle beamed at him. It seemed to make him feel slightly uneasy, though he offered her small smile back. She felt herself release a breath she’d subconsciously been holding since Scott had barged in on her upstairs, the weight finally lifting from her chest. No, they might not trust her yet, but at least she wasn’t actively distrusted.

“So, you really have no idea what happened?” Stiles asked after several minutes of mindless small talk about what homework they had that weekend, and the new Marvel film Scott and Stiles were planning on watching. Elle had been expecting it. She too had an inquisitive mind and new how difficult it was to just let something go. She supposed it was part of the reason why her own mind kept drifting back to the scene in the forest, as if it would offer her some clue as to what the hell she was doing there. So far, she’d thoroughly struck out.

“I have honestly no idea how I got here, I just woke up in the forest,” she said truthfully, knowing that lying likely wasn’t going to help anyone in this situation. The Sheriff glanced across at Scott in a way he probably thought was discreet. Elle supposed it would have been had she not been paying excruciatingly close attention to everything. She caught the slight nod which Scott offered in reply, likely conveying that she was in fact telling the truth.

She supposed it was good to confirm that the whole ‘hearing a lie’ thing was, well, a thing. She’d have to put her acting skills to the test. Skills she’d not exactly used since she’d dropped drama class when she was 15 because the teacher had told her she’d ‘died too dramatically’. Elle had most definitely not agreed and told her as much. Well, told was a minor understatement. She’d written a ten-page essay about why it was suitable to give a five-minute dramatic monologue to the audience when she’d been dying of the plague in her one-woman show, because yes, the plague could return, and yes, dramatic monologues from dying characters were entirely necessary.

She realised too late that her internal spiel had distracted her enough to miss a question clearly directed at her if the three pairs of eyes looking at her were anything to go by. She blushed and offered a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, what was that? I was having an argument with myself about one-woman shows and the plague.” She mentally face-palmed, confident that they’d no longer believe she was an axe-murderer. Rather a raging psychopath.

Noah and Scott simultaneously rolled their eyes as if they were used to hearing such things, and Stiles looked mildly curious.

“A story for another time, I’m sure,” Noah said, knocking Stiles’ arm when he opened his mouth as if to ask about it, sending Elle a small grin when she nodded her agreement. She liked the Stilinskis, they felt… she felt like interacting with them was natural. She was sure she’d like Scott as well, as soon as he’d made his mind up about her anyway. She was determined to get on his good side.

“As far as questions go, I think they can wait too,” Noah said, glancing at his watch and moving to stand up. “I’m sure with all the excitement of the day, Elle could do with some rest.”

“And a shower too if that’s alright. I’m literally repulsing myself,” She said, an overly dramatic shiver whacking her body as she did so. “I must stink,” she added, glancing at Scott from the corner of her eye and seeing his nose crinkle slightly as if she’d just reminded him of her scent. She bit back a smile.

“Mom’ll be wondering where I am, so I better head off anyway,” Scott said, as the rest of them stood up. “Thanks for the pizza,” he addressed Noah before looking towards Elle awkwardly. She considered standing there patiently waiting for him to speak, just to watch the way he seemed to be squirming, but took pity on him.

“It was nice meeting you, Scott,” She smiled politely. It was true, and he seemed to realise this as his shoulders sank with something akin to relief in his eyes, matching her sentiment as Stiles led him out. Elle considered her words – they really had no idea how _nice_ it was to meet them. Also, entirely bonkers.

She’d grabbed the empty pizza boxes from the table before Noah was able to tell her not to worry about it. If she was going to be living here, she wasn’t going to not pull her own weight. She took the boxes out the back door and to the bin the Sheriff had reluctantly told her were out there when he realised she wasn’t going to let him take them. She took slightly longer than might have been strictly necessary, hoping the few minutes would be enough for Stiles to tell his dad if he had a real issue with her staying with them. She hoped he wouldn’t.

When she walked back in, Stiles had already escaped upstairs.

“You really didn’t need to do that.”

“It was just a couple of pizza boxes,” She said with a shrug and a casual smile. The pair walked back up to her room – or the guestroom, she wasn’t entirely sure what to call it – and she quickly finished making the bed she’d been distracted from earlier as Noah spoke.

“The bathroom’s just through that door, feel free to use anything in there. we don’t exactly have ‘girlie’ products, except the apple shampoo Stiles insisted on me buying,” Noah said, pausing for the indignant shout coming from Stiles’ room which had them both chuckling. “Towels are below the sink, and if you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you. For everything,” Elle felt like the words weren’t enough. The fact that he’d opened up his home for her was probably one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for her, and she hoped he realised she was eternally grateful. He gave her a smile and wished her goodnight as he left the room.

She let her arms fall to her sides and leant back against the closest wall with a tired sigh. She felt as though every feeling she was capable of experiencing had been felt at least once during the day. And it seemed to finally be catching up with her.

A light knock on the slightly open door pulled her attention, green eyes finding brown ones. “Hi,” She said, attempting cheery. From Stiles’ reaction, she clearly missed the mark.

“Hey, my dad asked me to give you these,” Stiles said, holding out a neatly folded pile of clothes which Elle assumed were his. “They may not be your taste, but hey, they’ll probably suit you more than they ever suited me,” he winked. Elle rolled her eyes, despite the smile she felt tugging at her lips.

“You really don’t have to give me your clothes. I’ve already invaded your home,” She said, reaching out to take the pile anyway. It wasn’t as if she had many options and she certainly didn’t fancy wearing her own clothes again until they’d be thoroughly washed. Perhaps even twice.

“You say that, wearing my sweatshirt,” He challenged, raising an eyebrow as he casually leant against the doorframe. She blushed, her eyes shooting down as if she’d forgotten what she was wearing, before flicking back up to meet Stiles’ again. She sent a cursory glance over his position, briefly considering how attractive everyone she’d met today was, which of course only darkened her cheeks.

“Sorry. I didn’t realise it was yours,” She said meekly, the excuse feeble at best. Her tired mind unable to come up with the witty comeback she’d rather have given.

He shrugged.

“Just shows I was right,” He said, pushing himself up from the doorframe. “You do look better in my clothes.” The comment was flippant and paired with a teasing grin. She ignored the warmth the compliment caused in her stomach – subconsciously freaking out that Stiles freaking Stilinski had just said she looked good – and rolled her eyes, pleased she’d regained the ability to do anything other than blush.

“Stop flirting with me, Stilinski,” She grinned, setting the pile of clothes on the small dresser beside her bed and grabbing a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts she could change into after she showered. She could hear him chuckling to himself as he started backing away from her door, throwing a ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder which she quickly returned.

“How the hell have I gotten myself into this mess?” She muttered to herself, shaking her head disbelievingly. She made her way to the bathroom Noah had showed her, pointedly ignoring the hushed voices she could hear behind a closed door. She was curious by nature, yes, but even she knew that eavesdropping on their conversation was wrong.

Locking the door behind her, Elle placed the clean clothes on the side, purposefully avoiding looking in the mirror. She doubted she’d be happy with the image she’d be met with. She finally toed off her shoes, wincing when she placed her foot on the cool tile, before stripping the rest of her clothes off and dumping them in a disgruntled pile she didn’t want to deal with.

After grabbing a clean towel, she spent a few minutes trying to figure out the shower controls, quietly cursing herself. “Why is it that everyone’s shower is so bloody different?” She whispered through pursed lips as she twisted knobs and pressed buttons in hopes of getting a temperature which would neither burn nor freeze her. if anyone asked of her struggles, she’d claim American showers were just too different to those back home. A decidedly bullshit sentiment.

Eventually, pleased with the slowly heating water, she finally glanced in the mirror. She barely managed to hold back an audible wince as she caught sight of herself, understanding why Stiles and Scott’s reactions to her earlier had been quite so violent. Her hair was matted and resembled the coat of a woodland creature who’d spent the day rolling around in leaves and twigs, she had a questionable streak of mud across her forehead where she’d swiped at her face which dirt-covered hands, and dark circles resided under concerningly lifeless eyes. She was a ghost of herself.

“Maybe the Evil Dead was actually too generous,” she mused as she leant forward to inspect the small scratches on her chin she didn’t remember getting. No doubt the warm water she was about to step into would highlight a multitude more.

After pulling a final disgusted look at herself in the mirror, her face scrunching in a way which actually resulted in her laughing, Elle climbed into the shower with a satisfied sigh.

The water was warm and soothing in a way she’d not realised she’d needed until that moment. And though she’d been right about the water stinging at microscopic grazes she’d managed to accumulate throughout the day, she happily scrubbed at her skin to rid herself of the dirt which coated it. She didn’t stop scrubbing until her skin bloomed bright pink, both from heat and the rough treatment she’d shown it. The faint burn being received almost happily as the pain once again proved she wasn’t residing in an alcohol-induced dream of some sorts.

Pleased with the majority of the grime removed from her body, Elle reached for a bottle of shampoo. The wave of mint which assaulted her senses pinched at her eyes, perhaps bringing tears to them had she not already been submerged in the shower’s stream of water. Running the product through her hair, detangling knots as she worked, Elle delighted in the thick suds which formed beneath her fingers. Once she’d grown accustomed to the scent, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, finding the mint refreshing as she let the suds run down the drain.

*****

Having spent more time under the water than she’d usually do – something she only barely managed to feel embarrassed by – Elle reluctantly switched off the shower.

“I can tell we’re going to be good friends,” She said dramatically as she patted the shower tap before climbing out of the shower. Had she been at home, she might have indulged and spent another half hour just standing under the stream of water. But she wasn’t at home, perhaps not even in the same universe as home, and she was aware that using all of the hot water in a house which you’d so kindly been invited to stay at wasn’t exactly appropriate etiquette. Still, as she wrapped a towel around her body, the thought to turn the water back on flicked annoyingly through her head.

She wiped her hand across the steamed-up mirror and considered her reflection once more. It was infinitely less offensive, though that said very little considering what she’d began with. And she was certain that the drowned rat look she had going wasn’t attractive in any country in the world.

She found a spare toothbrush below the sink and spent a few more minutes than usual scrubbing at her mouth before setting herself the task of finding a hairbrush.

Irritably, though admittedly not unsurprisingly, she came up blank. Apparently in houses with only men, hairbrushes weren’t deemed essential. “Evidently, nor is conditioner,” she mumbled as she set to work on dragging her fingers through her towel-dried hair with a few colourful expletives slipping past her lips as her fingers caught on knots and tugged at her scalp.

By the time she was dressed in Stiles’ shirt and shorts, and back in her room, the exhaustion she’d felt all day finally caught back up with her. She’d passed Noah on the way out of the bathroom and hesitantly handed him her dirty clothes when he’d asked for them, cheeks flushed as she said goodnight, and was now stood at the window. She stopped midway through drawing the curtains as a shadow caught her eye and spent the next five minutes staring into the dimly lit outside world for any other sign of movement. She gave up shortly after, deciding that if anywhere was safe, it was the Sheriff’s house.

She settled into bed with every intention to try and concoct a plan of action for how exactly she was going to proceed if she woke up tomorrow morning still in Beacon Hills, thought the second her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light, her body sinking into a dream-filled sleep which spoke of time travel and alternate dimensions and shadowy figures with red eyes outside of bedroom windows.

**Author's Note:**

> Please stick with me on this. I know we've barely even met any of the characters we all know and love, but I promise it'll be worth it. You've just got to give it time. I mean, like the tags suggest, this is a sloooow burn, one which if going to 'hopefully' be hella long and hella worth it. And I hope the wait will lead to an all the more satisfying plot.


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